


Behind the Music

by wantAwinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Character Death, Dean Winchester Angst, Depressed Dean, Dream Sex, Drinking, M/M, Musician Dean Winchester, Wet Dream, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantAwinchester/pseuds/wantAwinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's band Demonkind has made it, they have more fame than they can handle and Dean is unhappy with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Music

**Author's Note:**

> Written quickly one evening when I had no access to my current work in progress. This isn't meant to be life changing or serious, just some angst and some porn. It's a quick read and I hope you like it.  
> As always, thanks to my beta reader/editor for her support and insight. I couldn't do this without her.  
> The gorgeous fan art was gifted to me by frog27.deviantart.com and she captured the feeling of the story perfectly!  
> xo  
> [](http://s164.photobucket.com/user/bdbach510/media/DeanockStarPaintjpg_zpsy20lm1dj.jpg.html)

The door crashed open as Dean Winchester threw himself into the backstage dressing area of the packed arena where he immediately guzzled what was left in the fifth of Johnnie Walker Blue that was included in his contract. The crowd had been crazed, his band, Demonkind, sounded better than ever and Dean was at the absolute apex of his musical career. He stopped short in front of the mirror and stared at the face looking back at him, a stranger who he didn’t really know anymore, a sellout, a cog in a musical machine that just kept churning out one catchy tune after another until he felt like he was on a treadmill to nowhere with the scenery repeating itself over and over and over again. 

When they started out it was about the music, the four young men had come together in high school and sought to change the world through their profoundly dark, desperate lyrics and blistering heavy metal guitar riffs. Now ten years later they had more money than they knew what to with, more women and men throwing themselves at them than their wives would tolerate, several broken families and a shit ton of substance abuse issues. Their astronomical rise to the top of the charts started shortly after signing with Crowley and his record company, Hellbound. Crowley had picked the music they recorded for their first CD with the label and the eponymous effort went triple platinum in record time. All of a sudden everyone wanted them…..him the charismatic front man and guitarist, to attend their parties, red carpet events and award shows.

His face was suddenly staring at him from dozens of gossip magazines, stories of the band’s excesses fodder for the masses to live through vicariously while thanking their assorted gods that they were better than the leather clad, hard partying musicians who never seemed to sober up. Hit after hit followed under Crowley’s guidance and Demonkind was a household name that was often mentioned with legends such as Skynyrd, Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Elvis and the Beatles. The consequence of such bad publicity, he laughed, you know any publicity is good publicity, was the boys in the band trying even harder to outdo their previous excesses and live up to an inflated picture of their debauchery.

Dean sighed and stepped away from the mirror grabbing another bottle of scotch. He’d stopped sharing a dressing room with the rest of the band eighteen months ago when he realized in a blinding moment of sobriety that he didn’t really like the other guys in the band anymore. They behaved more like animals than men and the way they treated the women and men who begged to be fucked by one or more of them, well that had been the last straw. Dean still saw the vacant eyes of the strung out, fucked out nameless groupies haunting his nightmares. No one deserved to be so demeaned and debased even if they were asking to be. He often wondered how many of those young men and women ended up hopelessly addicted to the latest drugs or alcohol trying to heal the self-loathing that surely followed them once they sobered up enough to remember how they’d behaved, how they sold themselves for a couple of famous dicks who wouldn’t remember their names. He was certain that the ghosts of more than one of them who’d committed suicide in their desperation to escape were following him, waiting for him to falter.

He sank into the ratty, stained couch that was de rigueur for arena dressing rooms and refused to think about what the stains were. Dean opened the new bottle and took a long pull of the refined whiskey, too refined for the likes of him, but he felt it gave him a bit of class. He leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, the music he’d played still pounding in his head so he didn’t hear or see the winged figure who appeared before him until he spoke.

“You don’t have to live like this, you know.”

Dean sat forward, startled and stared at the figure in front of him, not quite believing his eyes, “go away, I don’t need any Dickens hallucinations tonight,” he rubbed at his eyes and checked again, the other man or whatever the winged creature wanted to be called, was still standing in front of him, “go away, there’s nothing for you here.”

The 6’5” bare chested, jeans clad and winged man hadn’t moved, his hazel eyes burning holes into Winchester’s soul, “Not leaving,” the creature folded his wings into nothing, grabbed a chair and straddled it to sit with the back at his chest, “not until we talk anyway.”

“Fine, talk. You won’t be the first hallucination I’ve had a conversation with and probably won’t be the last,” Dean took another healthy pull off his bottle before offering it to the other.

“I’m Samuel, angel of the lord blah, blah, blah. Call me Sam,” he took the bottle and took a healthy swig of the scotch, “yes, they are real wings and they are a bitch and a half to maintain,” he drank again and handed the bottle back, “you have good taste, most drunks don’t.”

Dean drank again and then again blinking in between to try to make the hallucination, it had to be a hallucination right? – go away. He didn’t believe in any god and sure as hell didn’t believe in angels, he took another swig before speaking, “So angel of the lord whatever, what the hell do you want and why me?”

“Good questions Dean, but you called me here. I answer the unspoken prayers of those who can no longer live with themselves and what they’ve done. I’m here to help you in whatever way you decide. I can help you die, I can show you where you went wrong, and I can help you find your way out of your despair or none of the above. It’s your call,” the angel watched the other man closely, his eyes sweeping over the perfect green eyes, freckle speckled nose and cheekbones, the full lips and the incredibly well built body. Surprised? He’s an angel, not a monk and he felt himself stir at the thought of fucking the other man until he cried his name in ecstasy.

The musician drank again figuring the problem was that he wasn’t quite drunk enough to chase off the beautiful – wait he thought, beautiful? What the fuck? – yeah, beautiful angel staring at him from a couple feet away, “Anything I want, huh? Just like that? What will that end up costing me? I’m not sure I have a soul anymore.”

The angel Sam laughed, “Sure you do, it’s just so filthy no one can see it anymore.” He took the bottle, “Enough, you can’t drink me away,” he placed the bottle on the floor at his feet and rose in a sensuous column of golden flesh walking, no sauntering, over to the bar where he grabbed a couple bottles of water and handed one to Dean, “Here, you’ll feel better if you drink this.”

“Why do you care? What’s your deal?”

“It’s my job. You have yours and I have mine. I get to babysit the terminally depressed and disillusioned assholes contemplating ending it all. I’ll trade you,” Sam sat on the couch and turned to face his current asshole, “Let’s go, the sooner you choose the sooner I can go back to bed.”

“Seriously? I get an angel who’s anxious to go back to bed? What is wrong with you?” Dean let his eyes travel over the angel’s broad, well-defined chest and ripped abs and arms. It had been a while since he’d been attracted to another man, but this one was, well, heavenly. He laughed out loud at his own thoughts.

“Want to share with the class?” The angel wore a kind of half smirk that highlighted his seriously gorgeous dimples.

“Nah, you wouldn’t get it. So, I get to pick what I want and I can have anything? No strings,” He watched Sam closely trying to see if he could determine whether or not the angel could lie but got distracted by his long tapered fingers.

“Anything, just choose already,” The angel was getting hard thinking about having his current case on his knees and sucking his cock with those perfect lips, his eyes looking up and encouraging him to come, ‘fuck, enough of that’.

“Fuck me.”

“Excuse me?” The angel was sure the musician was just cursing, he couldn’t be asking, could he?

“I said, fuck me. That’s what I want; I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now. Fuck me,” Dean pulled his sweat soaked t-shirt over his head and threw it aside before moving closer to the angel and brushing his lips across the other man’s mouth, “Fuck me.”

Sam didn’t ask again but answered just the same. He pulled Dean into his arms, one arm around his shoulders and the other cupping his face as he lowered his mouth and took possession of the lips that had been driving him nuts. The angel felt the other man relax as his mouth opened and Sam took possession of it, his tongue slipping in and out and around the other man’s until he was mewling like a kitten.

Working his hands between them Dean worked the top button of Sam’s jeans open and started to lower the zipper before a large hand slapped his away, “Not yet,” the angel spoke into his mouth before breaking the kiss and working his mouth down the exposed neck of the other man, drawing more moans and mewls from him as he kissed, licked and bit his way down both sides.

“Please, Sammy,” Dean moaned the words aloud as the other man began to suck and bite at one of his erect nipples while rubbing his thumb over the other.

“Please what?” The angel stopped sucking long enough to groan out the question.

“Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

The angel laughed around the nipple in his mouth, “We’ll get there when I get there. Patience.”

“Not patient.”

“No shit,” Sam proceeded to work his way down the hard abs of the musician and he turned him so he could lay him back on the couch as he worked his tongue in and out of his navel smiling at the squirming man beneath him, “No patience at all.”

Dean tried again to unfasten Sam’s pants, wanting to get his hands on the hard cock he could feel beneath the denim but the angel jerked his hips away with a hiss.

Sam’s hands were now working on Dean’s jeans popping each button on the fly releasing the erect cock that had been confined behind them, “Commando…..nice touch musician.” The angel lowered his head again and licked up the underside of the swollen and leaking cock as Dean thrust his hips towards him in an effort to get more friction against his cock.

“Let’s get these jeans out of the way,” Sam worked them over Dean’s hips and pulled them off before casting them aside. He then stopped and looked at the vision that was laid out in front of him - hard, needy and wanton. Grabbing his own dick through his jeans he applied pressure until his orgasm receded. “You are gorgeous and I am enjoying this immensely. No one’s ever asked for this…..ever.”

“Then do it,” Dean’s voice was raspy from the singing and screaming he’d done earlier. He looked into the angel’s eyes challenging him and worshiping him all at the same time.

Sam worked his own jeans and boxers off his hips and stood as if for inspection. His cock gently curved, long and thick. He was hard and he was leaking, the desire for the human spread before him evident in his lust blown pupils. He lowered himself over the other man and captured his mouth once again as his fingers found his opening and gently probed it before breaching the outer rim.

“Fuck! Sammy yes!” Dean tried to fuck himself against the invading fingers – where the hell had the lube come from – but was held still by the weight of the other man who worked his two fingers in and out of his hole, opening him, preparing him.

“So hot, you’re so hot, so tight, you are going to feel so good,” the angel had moved his mouth to one of Dean’s ears and was whispering curses, endearments and nonsense words as he added a third finger and allowed Dean time to adjust to the additional digit, “So beautiful, so sexy, so fucking hot and tight. I want, I need.”

Sam began moving his fingers again in earnest as he felt Dean relax under him. The musician was chanting his own string of curses, encouragement and challenges, “Fuck Sammy, fuck, fuck, I need you to fuck me, please.”

The musician was fucking himself on the invading fingers as hard as he could and the angel curved them and began to stroke his prostate. Dean’s words, moans and cries increased in volume and frequency as the angel hit that spot again and again and again. The musician was begging to be fucked and was so lovely in his abandon that the angel had to grab himself again and pull himself off the edge. Once he was back in control, he withdrew his fingers and lined up his granite hard cock to the puffy and open hole under him.

“Do it!”

With a snap of his hips Sam was fully seated in Dean’s hot, tight and velvet ass. He had to stop again to get control as the other man tried in vain to thrust up against his stomach with his own dripping cock. The angel started to move, thrusting harder and faster each time. He moved one of his hands between them and began to jack the other man’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Dean was undone. Sex had never been this good. He felt like he’d died and was in his own personal heaven where he could be fucked into unconsciousness every day just to wake up and start over the next day. It didn’t take more than five more thrusts for Dean to let go and come all over Sam’s hand and their bellies.

When the musician’s orgasm swept over him he clamped down on the huge cock in his ass and with one more thrust Sam shot everything he had into Dean’s ass before collapsing on top of the other man.

The strains of Metallica’s Seek and Destroy blared through the air and Dean awoke with a grunt. He hit the alarm on his phone off and felt the sticky wetness on his belly and between his legs. There were a few snippets of his quickly fading dream just slipping out of the reach of his mind, he rolled on his side and grabbed a t-shirt from the floor to clean himself before got up to shower.

Standing under the punishing spray of the shower Dean washed quickly and wondered when he’d stop dreaming of his brother. He’d been dead for six months and not a night went by that he didn’t dream that he was still alive and still there for him. The tears that had been threatening to fall since he woke spilled over and tracked down his cheeks mixing with the spray from the shower. He didn’t know how much longer he could last without his constant, without the one person who made him feel whole but he put on his brave face one more time and headed out to face a world that had lost all color when he lost his brother.

“Sammy,” he whispered as he pulled away from their home.

The End


End file.
